


Loved by You

by Evenbechbaesheim



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Hurt, Family, Family Drama, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, I promise, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage, Married Life, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, isak just has A LOT going on, one vaugely dubcon moment, seriously, soooooo much angst, there are nice parts too, they just forget that sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12998976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenbechbaesheim/pseuds/Evenbechbaesheim
Summary: "Let’s not talk about it, let’s just not talk. Not because I don’t believe it, not because I want it any different, but I’m always saving and you’re always owing and I’m tired of asking to settle the debt.” - richard sikenIsak and Even have been together for ten years, and married for five. They have a four year old daughter called Cecilie and, on the surface, a perfect life together. Even and Isak did itright-  soulmates and the perfect forever, more or less on the first try--except now, ten years down the line, Isak can see the cracks showing. Even can tell things aren't right, even if he doesn't always let on. They're both clinging onto something that neither one is entirely sure he still wants, but are both equally too petrified to consider the idea of losing each other.Even's solution is to go on vacation. This vacation will change their relationship forever.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> an ode to all you angst lovers. Young love's dream, turned reality.
> 
> (but they are Isak and Even, remember. It can never be all doom and gloom)

**PROLOGUE**

 

 

Sometimes, Isak really wonders if he hates them.

 

 

It’s a strange feeling. Certainly not the kind of feeling he should be suddenly overwhelmed by as he stands at the back of their house, looking out through the tall glass doors at his husband who is laughing and smiling and yelling in the garden as he takes their little girl in his arms and whirls her above his head, the pair of them giggling like school children in constant cahoots, her golden curls bouncing, Even’s eyes shining in the sunlight.

 

Being high school sweethearts is _exhausting_. In Isak’s opinion- he and Even haven’t stayed together for the last ten years thanks to some magical _first-love-true-love_ bullshit like everyone that knows them simply assumes. It’s just a happy sort of accident. They fit, they worked, they enjoyed each other’s company. Once they got the matching rings and shared insurance and a house and a car and a _child_ … it just made sense for them to stay together. The fall out would be exhausting and time consuming, and between supporting his whole family on a half decent pay-check from the hospital and simultaneously supporting both his husband and daughter emotionally, Isak doesn’t really have the time for it either.

 

Cecilie is four years old.

 

A smile tugs at Isak’s lips as he watches Even toss her like a ragdoll before catching her in his waiting arms and blowing ticklish kisses into her soft, pale skin. He is, like any parent, filled with love and infatuation whenever he so much as lays eyes on their perfect little girl. It’s only recently that that same love has begun to mix itself in with something else every time he watches her smile in Even’s arms. Something more bitter. Something Isak doesn’t care to admit to anyone, let alone himself.

 

Cecilie is _his_. That’s clear to anyone with two eyes and a half-formed brain. When choosing to have a child, he and Even left it up to fate and destiny and all that other hipster bullshit to see whose DNA would successfully mix with their surrogate and both agreed after she was born that they didn’t want a DNA test because she was _theirs_ , either way. Secretly, Isak was terrified of the child being his because there was no single part of him that was one hundred percent sure he even wanted a baby in the first place. Secretly, Even was terrified at the prospect of any baby with his DNA having even the smallest chance of inheriting his bipolar disorder. They were both equally afraid, and both equally not brave enough to talk about said fears, so the decision was made to send off two samples and let possibly the biggest decision of their lives be left completely up to chance and the uncaring latex-gloved hands of an anonymous scientist because _who even cares anyway? We love each other. She’s ours, regardless._

But there’s still no denying that she is Isak’s.

 

Beautiful green eyes with flecks of honeyed brown around the iris, perfect upturned button nose, thin lipped cupids bow and a head of curls as bouncing and blonde as his own falling around her neat, narrow shoulders. Isak watches the way it glows in the sunshine as Even holds Cecilie high above his head and rubs a hand through his own hair, tugging at it. He’s been considering shearing it all off again. Even didn’t speak to him for a week the last time.

 

It doesn’t matter how certain (and they are, very certain, even though they never say) it is that Cecilie has Isak’s genes. It doesn’t stop her from being the ultimate _Daddy’s Girl_ towards Even. This does nothing to assist Isak’s harbouring resentment as he watches her beam up at him, stick thin arms reaching up with grabby hands, pink mouth laughing and calling _again daddy, again_ until Even relents, and lifts her back into the air. Her preference for Even has been blinding more or less since birth- and once she was out of the sleeping-four-hours-a-night and crying-whenever-left-alone-longer-than-a-few-hours stage she attached herself to Even’s side and hadn’t let go since. Isak didn’t have the hindsight to cherish the first six months or so of Cecilie’s life when basic human instinct kept her attached to his chest as much as he should’ve done. Now, he has to admit, he is _pathetically_ jealous of the sparkle in her eye whenever she so much as catches glimpse of Even across the room.

 

It _isn’t_ his fault. Cecilie’s preference for Even over him is purely circumstantial. As parenting goes- there was never a chance in hell that Even was going to play bad cop. He’s the easy-going creative type and always has been, since the very first day they met. This means that Even gets to be the _fun_ dad. Even gets to be the dad that makes up entire fictional worlds out of carboard boxes in the middle of their living room despite the fact that Isak just spent two hours tidying up whilst he was at the store with Cecilie. Even is the _cool_ dad who spins a fairy-tale just to coax her into eating vegetables and Isak’s the one left having to wipe the mush out of her hands and from around her mouth and all over the table. She doesn’t understand why there has to be balance of fun and seriousness in their household- she’s fucking four years old. Even on the other hand is twenty-nine. Somehow he still hasn’t quite grasped the concept.

 

Catching eyes across the garden, Isak nods for Even to bring Cecilie inside. The evening is setting in, Isak’s attempt at dinner has been ready for fifteen minutes, but Even was pretty good at pretending not to notice the previous several times he tried to catch his attention from across the garden before their food had the chance to get cold. Even’s been pretty good at pretending not to notice any attempt at catching his attention at all these days. For them, the game stops when Even is good and ready to come inside, and he grins, leaning down to smash a kiss on Isak’s lips that misses when he turns his head, catching him on the side of the face before rushing off with Cecilie between his legs to wash their hands.

 

Cecilie wants apple juice with her dinner, but the carton Even bought from the store is full of sugar and Isak warns him of this as he pours her half a pint glass- arguing with an eye roll that it’s _fine_ to have sweet things in moderation. Isak doesn’t reply, instead sipping on his water and staring at his food, looking away as Even pours himself a large glass of wine and stands in the doorframe between the dining room and the garden to smoke a cigarette before dinner.

 

“Can’t you go outside?” Isak sighs whilst simultaneously yanking the plastic knife Cecilie has been playing ‘swordfight’ with against her potatoes, before replacing it with a fork. He waves a hand over their plates. “The smoke is floating all over the table.”

 

“Fine.” Even thinks that Isak can’t see him roll his eyes again as he tosses the cigarette completely and necks half the glass of wine before turning back to the table with a smile. He’s a fool- because he should know by now that Isak can read his facial expression with his eyes closed. They’ve been together ten years. Even hasn’t exactly changed much.

 

He looks a little older, something which Isak knows he hates. He’s regained his own youth fairly successfully- but Even’s nearly thirty and had a small meltdown a few weeks ago when he picked a silver-white hair out from the back of his neck. The crinkle around his eyes is slightly more prominent and ever so slightly the front of his hair is beginning to thin out. His knuckles crack every time he picks up a pencil. Even hates the concept of aging and he hates time and abhors personal growth for some reason. Isak watches on happily, and quite frankly, can’t wait to be old so he can just _get it all over with_.

 

“Did you look into that job at the critic’s office downtown?” he asks, desperate to fill the silence broken only by Cecilie, humming a nursery rhyme happily under her breath as she eats.

 

Even grimaces. “I- sort of, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, and Isak knows immediately that he is lying, and more importantly, feels guilty about it. “It wasn’t for me. And I still think I need a little more time out. My screenplay is nearly finished and I just… I need to put all my attention on it, for now, you know?”

 

“Right.” Isak nods, hoping Even doesn’t notice the way he hangs onto his cutlery just a little bit tighter.

 

The actual truth is, one day Even just decided completely out of the blue that he wanted to quit his lucrative and enjoyable career as a curator down at the Norwegian Film Institute Library to focus on his real dream; writing and directing his own movie. Isak’s mouth had fallen open when Even announced this to him, quite casually over dinner, before bouncing Cecilie up and down on his knee (that was her phase when she refused to sit anywhere that wasn’t his lap and Even, the attention whore that he was, had refused to quit indulging her) and telling her that _daddy was going to be a famous director_ as she clapped and cheered along. Isak had gripped his cutlery pretty tightly that night too. Afterwards, in bed, he’d quietly asked Even if he felt like he was slipping- impulsive, reckless decisions being a known symptom of a manic episode. It hadn’t helped- instead just triggering another fight hashing the same old issues that they always fought about: One - _You don’t trust my judgment._ Two - _I’m not broken._ Three - _I can make my own decisions_ versus: One - _I’m worried about you._ Two- _I care about you._ Three - _I love you._ And the all important mutual number four - _I’m sorry. I just want you to be happy._

Here they were, seven months later, all eating potatoes and pretending to be happy. Even poured himself another glass of wine. Isak sipped his water. Cecilie sang under her breath and thankfully, didn’t take much notice to the tension that arose over the dinner table more nights than not. Isak thanked God every day that they’d managed to raise such a happy and oblivious child even if he and Even weren’t so happy themselves all the time. He knew what it was like to grow up with miserable parents who resented each other and fought all the time. He and Even did their best in laying off the shouting matches these days. They never really amounted to anything anyway. Instead- gripes and negative thoughts and feeling were kept bottled up until they spilled over into passive aggressive jabs that were too easily shrouded in faux-smiles and biting tones for Cecilie to pick up on.

 

Sometimes, like this evening, Even pretended not to pick up on them either.

 

“Seven months since you quit.” Isak says, pushing his food around his plate, no longer hungry. “When do you think you’ll be ready to find something?”

 

“If I meet the right producer and things go my way, I told you, baby, we’ll never have to work again.”

 

This is something Even reminds him of more days than not, and at this point, Isak really has to wonder if he’s just being fucked with. _Don’t worry baby- when we’re rich and famous we’ll never work again_. It’s like a child’s dream- neat and simple and wrapped in a pretty pink bow without any hard work. Just the way Even has always liked the world to be- _easy_ , and his for the taking.

 

“Contrary to popular belief, I actually like work.” Isak stabs one of his potatoes harshly, harsh enough for his knife to chip against the bottom of the plate. He doesn’t look up at Even, who is certainly staring at him.

 

He isn’t lying. Working as a biomedical researcher at the local university is more or less his dream job- so much so that sometimes, for a few seconds, he almost understands Even’s desperation in chasing his own. For Isak, things really were quite easy after high school. He went to university, he studied biomedicine, he passed. He _more_ than passed. He was praised by his school and his lecturers and not even three months after graduation, was offered a position in-house by the head of department he’d studied in. The pay is good- good enough to support their little family as Even takes his ‘career break’ and Isak actually enjoys what he does. Science just _makes sense_ to him. Either things happen, or they don’t and the chance of either option is easily calculatable. Concrete fact and statistics make up his days and it’s the perfect reprieve from the floating limbo that home is more and more starting to feel like.

 

Even didn’t have things quite so easy. He started college as Isak started third year on a film course, but quit halfway through because it _didn’t feel right_. Then he took six months off. Then he started again a year later doing a cross-media course. That didn’t work for him either- so he quit that, spent a few months building up a portfolio, and then did a smaller, part-time film history course. Then he was between jobs for a while- Isak laughs to himself, remembering the near existential crisis he had when offered a management position at _KB_ \- before he found the library.

 

Isak was happy for him. For once, Even was in his element. All he did, all day, was talk to people about films, advise them about films, help film students with their thesis’. And for a while, Even really was happy. Four years- since Cecilie was born. Until now.

 

 

“We should go on holiday.”

 

Isak chokes on his wine. It’s been a few hours since dinner- Isak finishing three glasses of white wine in record time as Even took Cecilie up to bed and tucked her in and read her a story with far too many dramatic sound effects than necessary. Most of the time, he gets her more worked up and awake than ready for bed- but hours out in the early summer sun in their garden must have tired her out, because twenty minutes later Even was back with a cigarette already between his lips, walking over to crack the back door before lighting it in the kitchen. Isak’s nose wrinkled at the smell, but he didn’t complain. Of all the things they probably had to argue about- Isak didn’t think cigarette smoke was going to be the best start.

 

But a _holiday_? Now he _knows_ Even’s lost his fucking mind.

 

“With what money?” he scoffs. Even rolls his eyes.

 

“Don’t worry, I can take care of it. I’m not completely bankrupt yet.”

 

It’s a half-hearted attempt at a joke. Isak doesn’t laugh.

 

“I don’t think we should go on holiday.” He shakes his head with a tight, thin-lipped smile and takes another strong drink.

 

“Wouldn’t it be nice though?” Even muses, head back against the cool glass of the back door, his cigarette limp between his lips. As the main light catches his face and he looks over, Isak’s stomach swoops. It’s infuriating, how Even still makes his insides turn and his legs feel like jelly with one single look. Even when they fight- the rare occasions they do let loose and scream and holler- Isak finds himself getting lost in _those eyes_ , _that face_ , and forgets the point of the dispute in the first place.

_Not this time_ , he thinks, looking away.

 

“-Just me and you, no Cecilie.” Even continues. “A cosy little lakeside hotel somewhere. We don’t even have to leave the country. The summer is hitting the south side quite nicely, I hear.” He takes another pull, smoke curling above his head and dissipating into the ceiling. Okay, maybe Isak’s looking again. Maybe he has no sense of self control. Whatever.

 

Even looks him right in the eye, unwavering in the silence.

 

“It’s been so long since it’s just been the two of us, you know?”

 

And then, Isak understands exactly what Even’s getting at and exactly what is fuelling this whole wayward vacation idea. it isn’t a secret- but it still remains unspoken between them in the hours between bedtimes. Isak stares at Even, who continues to pretend to be oblivious and romantic and faraway in his gaze.

 

They haven’t had sex in four and a half months.

 

It’s weird. When they first got together, Isak remembers it well. There was a cloud of lust that seemed to follow them wherever they went, regardless of time or place or appropriateness. Isak wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he’d been sexually and emotionally repressed for his entire life up to that point or if he and Even were just _designed_ to be ridiculously attracted to each other, but he remembers back to the days when they couldn’t go more than twenty four hours without getting naked and upsetting their neighbours through the thin walls of their first shoebox apartment.

 

Now, things are different. Isak may not have expelled her from his body personally, but it’s true that after having a child, libido kind of just… _dwindles_. It hasn’t changed for Even- Isak catches him jerking off in the shower almost every morning when he thinks nobody is listening and he still wants sex _all the time_ \- but it’s less about a desire to _be together_ and more like he has something to prove, some kind of twisted masculine ideal that keeps him up at night, hard on pressing against Isak’s back. And Isak can understand why he’s frustrated. Isak’s holding sex ransom for a reason he isn’t really too sure of himself, and it’s working. Each day, Even grows more frustrated, snippy, irritable. Isak isn’t sure why he enjoys this shallow victory- but it’s relieving to think that _finally_ , Even is getting a taste of what he feels on a day to day basis, and that’s worth the blue balls.

 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, swirling what’s left of the wine at the bottom of his glass before necking it. “What would we do with Cecilie?”

 

“My parents could have her!” Even tosses his cigarette out through the crack in the door. Isak silently fumes, knowing he will be the one out there with a flashlight at two AM when he wakes up in a panic, fretting that Cecilie will somehow find the soggy butt and do something silly, like swallow it. She isn’t stupid- but Isak is a parent. He worries about things that don’t necessarily warrant worrying about. Sue him.

 

“Where would we even go?”

 

“I told you, the south side is perfect this time of year. Little lakeside hotel, a room with a view…” Even approaches him slowly, setting his glass down on the side and pushing Isak’s empty one away. He reaches forwards, and Isak only pulls away for a second, letting Even hold his face between two large, cold hands. “Just me and you.” Even whispers, looking him straight in the eye. “Get away from the rat race for a week.”

 

“I have work, Even-”

 

“-and you’ve got a week of saved holiday. I know you do. Plus, you’re employee of the month, like, eternally. I’m sure they can forgive a weeks vacation.”

 

Isak rolls his eyes, pulling out of Even’s soft touch and turning around to pick up the wine bottle. “You think everything’s so easy.”

 

“Because it _is_.” Even is relentless, following him as he moves across the kitchen, hands on his hips, front pressed to back. “Come on, Isak.” He whispers, breath tickling Isak’s ear. “Indulge me. I’ll make it worth your while.” His fingers curl, brushing the skin just above Isak’s waistline, creeping under his shirt. Isak holds his breath and- mustering up the scrap of willpower he has left- wrestles out of Even’s grip. He looks away when disappointment flashes in his husband’s eyes.

 

“Fine,” he huffs, pouring what’s left of the bottle into his glass. Even reaches for it before he has a chance to, smiling as he necks it like a shot, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Isak glares at him, but Even’s smile doesn’t waver.

 

“Let’s go on holiday.” He beams, but something sinister twists in his lips, eyes sparkling mischievously. Isak clears his throat and grips his hand into a fist under the table. “Yeah.” He forces himself to smile, unwilling to forfeit so early on in this pathetic, putrid game. “Let’s go on holiday.”


	2. MONDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All persons entering a heart do so at their own risk. Management can and will be held responsible for any loss, love, theft, ambition or personal injury. Please take care of your belongings. Please take care of the way you look at me. No roller skating, kissing, smoking, fingers through hair, 3am phone calls, stained letters, littering, unfeeling feelings, a smell left on a pillow, doors slammed, lyrics whispered or loitering. Thank you._
> 
> _\- Iain S Thompson_

**MONDAY**

When they arrive, Isak almost forgets just how much he was dreading the whole wretched excursion.

 

It took him three days to pack. Three days of staring at his empty suitcase, turning around to stare at the brimming wardrobe, listening to Even spinning his pretentious vintage vinyl records downstairs and pacing the length of their bedroom with his head in his hands. Every time Isak thought about preparing for their spontaneous trip to the great outdoors, he was reminded immediately just how _real_ the whole thing was, and his heart sunk slowly.

 

But when they arrive, Isak has to admit that Even did an excellent fucking job in finding them a holiday on such short notice. The lakeside hotel is rustic and warming and everything it _should_ be. It’s large but somehow still quaint, natural down to the winding wines creeping up the siding but still somehow shining new, wooden floors glowing with vinyl coating and perfectly imperfect hand-painted signs labelling every door. It’s clean- a slight smell of bleach still lingers in the air, but if Even notices he doesn’t say. He doesn’t notice Isak’s wavering reaction at all, too busy leaning over the counter brimming with energy, smiling _that_ smile- the one he’s always flashed at long, slim baristas and check-out girls and other, easily led people. Even likes to _flirt_ and he’s always been frighteningly good at it. It’s more than just being good looking, or charming or charismatic. Even just has an aura around him that makes him so compelling, people are so easily drawn into his toothy smiles and shining eyes and through this, Even always successfully traps his prey.

 

The girl behind the check in desk can’t be older than twenty, and is currently a blushing, giggling mess.

 

Her cheeks are rosy- skin otherwise slightly sickly in its paleness, a smattering of soft freckles across the bridge of her nose and a slightly curl to her strawberry blonde hair. Her eyes are flat and brown and not particularly interesting in any way- but Even is gazing into them as if they hold the secrets of the fucking universe. He’s grinning, flirting carelessly and being a complete asshole in general, but Isak can see through the act relatively easily. Even wants to gauge Isak’s reaction to his behaviour so that he can estimate his chances of getting laid at least once this trip. In this moment, Isak’s fairly sure it’s a strong zero.

 

Isak isn’t like Even. Even has a capability to use his face like a mask- showing only the emotions he _wants_ people to see. He’s good at hiding the way he feels- likely due to the fact that he never wants anyone’s help, never wanting to appear lesser or broken or _weak_. Isak can’t do that- he wears emotion like a fucking clown’s makeup and no matter how many times over the years he’s _tried_ to be more like Even- he’s never been able to hide the way he feels. The jealousy is written over his face from the moment Even starts smiling to the second they make it upstairs and throw their cases down in the room and he doesn’t know why, but for some reason he feels like Even enjoys the reaction.

 

Even is clever in the way he ruins Isak. He’ll flirt with the receptionist and compliment her pretty eyelashes but then he’ll still always remember to turn and flash that thousand-watt grin in Isak’s direction and pat him on the back, squeezing his shoulder and shaking him slightly before turning to the girl- _Mai_ , her name is _-_ and proclaiming “Look at my husband. Isn’t he the most fucking beautiful man you’ve ever seen?”

 

It’s bitter, down to the tone of his voice. But still, a sweetness lingers when Isak thinks back to better times- times when Even drag him halfway across the city and into the foyer of the fanciest hotel in Oslo just to show him his own distorted idea of a ‘good night’- or at least, the version of a good night his mania could convince him of. He’d said it then- _isn’t this man beautiful?_ and Isak’s fragile, naïve teenage heart had swooned. Back then, even before anything about their relationship was concrete, they were still so completely _gone_ for each other. Isak loved Even more or less from the moment they locked eyes across the cafeteria at school and even if he hadn’t realised it until much, much later, there was always something unspoken between them that drew them together.

 

Isak is distracted, so lost in old memories that he doesn’t actually notice Even creeping up behind him until it is too late, and a warm presence was plastered against his back, hands ghosting around his hips. Isak swallows thickly, doing his best not to react as he feels Even’s breath tickling the skin at the base of his neck and instead does his best to keep his focus on the open suitcase laid on the bed in front of him.

 

“Do you think it’s worth unpacking?” he asks, ignoring the tiny circles Even’s fingers are tracing into his skin. “It’s only a week. We could just live out of the suitcase.”

 

“Either way I’m happy.” Even hums, holding him a little tighter and closer. “Just me and you and this beautiful room. That’s all I care about right now.”

 

Isak will give it to him, the room is fucking _nice_.

 

It isn’t exactly the penthouse suite but as they climbed floors in the elevator, Isak knew that the rooms were only getting more and more expensive. Their room is open and airy, white and glowing with a perfectly romantic Juliet balcony and flowing, heavy blue curtains pulled tightly to block the light from blasting through. The bed is giant- not as big as the queen-sized monstrosity Isak had forced them to buy a year or two ago so he could keep as much distance between himself and Even as possible, even in _sleep_ \- and the mattress springy, sheets soft and gleaming. It’s the kind of bed you can really enjoy yourself in. At least, that’s what Even must be thinking.

 

“How did we afford this nice room anyway?” Isak asks, making Even stiffen slightly- and not in the way he was planning on- from behind.

 

After a thoughtful pause, Even replies- “I just used my savings.” and Isak does his very best not to scoff. Of course, Even doesn’t know that he knows _I just used my savings_ is code for _I borrowed the money from my parents_. Even has used the _I just used my savings_ excuse a few times over the last year- most recently in defences of the ridiculously over-expensive hot red bicycle with light up flames on the handlebars for Cecilie. It wasn’t her birthday and it wasn’t Christmas. Cecilie fucking loved it and, in turn, Isak hated everything about it.

 

“So,” He sighs, before turning around in Even’s arms, keeping his own limp by his sides. “What’s the plan? Wanna go and get lunch or something?” he asks without making eye contact. Even just pulls him closer by the waist of his jeans, slipping his hands into Isak’s back pockets and squeezing gently.

 

“I don’t know.” Even grins, staring down at him. “We could always just… _stay in the room all day_.”

 

“Ha.” Isak forces a laugh, before laying a palm flat in the centre of Even’s chest and pushing him back slightly. Even is reluctant, but falls back slightly, pulling his hands back to himself. “I actually kinda wanted to check out the lake. Maybe get a beer?”

 

“Check out the lake and get a beer.” Even nods, keeping his eyes anywhere else but Isak’s. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

 

“It’s supposed to be really beautiful.” Isak offers in consolation, biting the inside of his cheek and hoping the guilt on his face isn’t too obvious. Even looks at him then, finally lifts his eyes and bears them into Isak’s fucking soul in that way he always does and, oddly enough, smiles.

 

“You’re beautiful.” he says, and Isak’s stomach sinks.


	3. TUESDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Real love is always chaotic. You lose control; you lose perspective. You lose the ability to protect yourself. The greater the love, the greater the chaos. It’s a given and that’s the secret.” ___
> 
> __
> 
> ___\- Jonathan Carroll, White Apples_ _ _

**TUESDAY**

 

 

Isak is surprised when he stirs in the giant bed and finds Even already up- not half-asleep pinning him to the edge of the bed or forcibly intertwining their limbs in a desperate, soulless search for intimacy. He’s up and awake, showered and dressed with a tray full of food and a tiny yellow flower in a glass vase; honest-to-God _smiling_. The soft morning sunlight creeps in through the balcony windows and makes his blonde hair almost look golden, eyes just a shade bluer than usual, skin soft and clear. Isak must look a complete mess in comparison, hair askew and eyes half closed, skin dry and flaky- but Even kisses his forehead fondly anyway and lays the tray down on the bed, flopping down beside it, taking a bite from the buttered toast.

 

“I got us room service breakfast. Figured you’d be hungry.”

 

“Thank you.” Isak smiles, twirling the flower around between his thumb and forefinger before holding it up and letting it tickle his nose. Even reaches forwards as he sets his sight on the rest of the breakfast and plucks the flower from his hands, instead tucking it behind his ear and stroking the hair that curls there fondly.

 

“Beautiful.” he beams, as Isak takes a sip of his piping hot black coffee. “ _My_ beautiful.”

 

Isak rolls his eyes but grins at the silly, familiar nickname. His heart fucking _swells_ and it’s so hard not to throw himself into Even’s arms then and there, so instead he settles with one soft, chaste kiss, dropped onto Even’s lips across the bed before he tucks into his breakfast and does his best not to notice the soft and slightly bemused look that crosses Even’s features afterwards, tongue poking out between his lips, savouring the taste.

 

“I can’t believe you got up and dressed and sorted all this before I even woke up.” Isak says after a few minutes of silent eating, Even laid back on the bed beside him, hands tucked behind his head.

 

“Don’t worry.” He laughs. “I didn’t leave the hotel room naked or anything.”

 

Isak forces himself to smile, but the pang in his chest is hard to ignore. It’s been a long time since he thought about that day, so long ago, but the memory creeps up on him like a stalker in the night and turns his stomach. He drops his toast back down on the plate, no longer hungry, and takes another long drink from his coffee cup. Even doesn’t say anything at all- he just lays back on the bed with his back against the headboard and his ankles crossed, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up a brochure packed with all the kind of tourist-y activities he pretends not to hate.

 

Even hasn’t had an episode in well over a year. He takes his medication and doesn’t need therapy anymore and is generally quite in control of his disorder, but ever since the fateful dinner when he’d turned around and so casually announced that he’d dumped the career he’d been building over the last five years, Isak had been biting the inside of his cheek and waiting for the moment that Even cracked, and ended up falling down the same slippery slope that had once made him consider ending his own life.

 

It hasn’t happened yet. This does not mean it won’t happen.

 

Isak feels terrible for worrying. He knows Even better than anyone, and he knows that one thing Even hates more than anything is when people reduce him to being just a side-effect of his disorder. It isn’t the only important thing in his life. It isn’t the only thing that shapes his personality. Regardless of this, it _is_ a big part of him and Isak _does_ worry, he just does so in silence with the knowledge that every time does he brings it up, the end result is a bitter, scathing shouting match. He doesn’t have the energy for another one yet, especially not so early in the morning, but he will keep an eye on Even for the rest of the day. This spontaneous holiday is just another in a few consecutive potential signs of mania. Isak doesn’t want to miss the next one, if there is a next one.

 

 _If there is a next one_. He scolds himself, frowning into his coffee mug. _You don’t know for sure that there’s going to be a next one_.

 

“So what do you want to do today?” Even asks, thankfully drawing him out of his own head and inner turmoil. Isak pauses at first, waits for the following line or the innuendo that usually is inevitable after such an innocent question, but it doesn’t come. Even doesn’t even look up from his brochure at first. He only does so after a few seconds of silence, checking if Isak is still listening.

 

At this, Isak clears his throat awkwardly and shrugs his shoulders.

 

“I… I don’t really mind.” He eventually says. “We can go and do the standard sightseeing stuff if you want.”

 

“You mean this garbage?” Even laughs, sitting up from his slouched position before laying the brochure out on the bed so Isak can see to. In turn, Isak scoots a little closer, and their shoulders brush just slightly as Even points to the glossy pages. Just the feeling of the warmth of his skin sent a shot of electricity through Isak’s chest. He bites his lip and hopes that Even doesn’t notice. “No thanks. Boating out on the lake in a two-man canoe? We’d probably drown.”

 

“We were never very good at rowing.” He laughs and Even waggles his eyebrows playfully, both of them remembering quite clearly at the only other time they ever braved an expanse of water together during their first ever vacation. It hadn’t ended well. They’d bickered about directions and Even didn’t pull his weight in the rowing and before they both had a chance to get their shit together, the raft had capsized and they’d gone plunging into the freezing river. Isak had screamed and Even had laughed, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him in closer and before Isak had a chance to yell at him, they were kissing in the river, gripping each other tight enough to leave fingertip shaped bruises.

 

All Isak had felt in that moment was passion. Now, things were different for them both.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They end up by the lake again, sat at a small table for two outside the quaint café owned by the hotel. They drink overpriced coffee’s and grab a slice of cake, and Isak feels himself relax, looking out across the dark water as it ripples and waves. Even seems content, for once, not bouncing on the heels of his feet, antsy to _get on with it_ , whatever _it_ seemed to be in those particular moments, never satisfied with staying still. He lights a cigarette and blows a steady stream of smoke out into the air, and Isak smiles, just watching him in silence.

 

It does make him proud, looking at Even’s hand and seeing the wedding ring that shines when it catches the light. It is the same childish pride he’d felt in high school whenever Even waited for him outside his classes and greeted him with a kiss as the gaggles of first-year girls who tracked his every move looked on with black looks. Even was just a fucking _handsome_ guy, and he still is even now, years down the line with a few extra creases around his eyes and obvious fatigue in his face that just seems to come with being a parent and the not-so-easy-going climate their life has taken in recent years. He actually seems to be getting _better looking_ as the years creep on and the hurt burned them deeper, and even though it isn’t fair, Isak appreciates it. Several women and a few men, both old and young, have looked twice at him when they walked past their little spot in front of the café. Even is mostly oblivious to his admirers, content to watch across the lake where a few kids are playing with a toy sailboat. Isak watches Even, humming smugly to himself in the knowledge that it doesn’t matter how many people stop and look back at him. He doesn’t belong to them. He never will.

 

“Look at that guy.” Even catches him off guard, gesturing with his cigarette down to the small man-made beach that surrounds the lake. He points to an older guy, maybe in his fifties or maybe a little younger but bitter, slathered with sun cream, moustache thick and bristling, a heavy-set frown on his face. “Have you ever seen someone look less excited to be at the beach?”

 

“I have.” Isak laughs. “His wife, the one yelling at those kids by the shore.” He points a little further down where the bitter man’s bitter woman lurks, wrapped in a red swimsuit that is at least a size to small, yelling at the children with the sailboat for reasons Isak can’t quite figure out. They aren’t close enough to listen. This is part of the fun.

 

“I’m going to say… he’s _Bjørn_ and she’s _Anges_. They’ve been married… ooh- thirty-six years? No children. Wait- no,” Even laughs. “One child. A rebel. Maybe a wanna-be punk or a gangster. Not very close with their parents anymore.”

 

Isak laughs along with him as Even spins him the story of Bjørn and Agnes. This used to be one of their favourite things to do together, before Cecilie. They’d just leave their apartment and wander around Oslo, hand in hand. Sometimes they’d grab a coffee and sometimes a beer and sometimes, every so often, they’d just go on nothing at all, find a bench, and watch the people mill about the city. Even’s imagination has never known boundaries, and he expertly crafts individual, unique stories about every person that passes. He could entertain Isak for hours, just talking. They’d sit on that bench until the sun came up and the cold night set in. Isak didn’t think he’d ever be able to get bored of listening to Even talk.

 

He still isn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, watching Even snore softly on the other side of the bed, Isak thinks back to his favourite stories, out of all the ones that Even had ever spun him.

 

They were in the park, at the height of summer. It was Isak’s second year of university, and it was the hottest day in Norway for a long time, maybe longer than he could remember. Even’s shoulder were pink from sunburn, underneath the white t-shirt that clung to his slim frame. They were sprawled out on the grass, and Isak’s eyes itched from the pollen, but he didn’t care, not when he had Even warm and damp with sweat beside him.

 

Across the park, they spotted two old men, sat side-by-side on the bench they so often claimed themselves, laughing and talking.

 

“What are they called then?” Isak had laughed. “Don’t say _Bjørn_ again. You always use _Bjørn._ it’s the most basic name ever.”

 

“Alright, alright, fine.” Even laughed back, tickling Isak’s forehead with his fingers. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that neither of them are called Bjørn. actually, that one with the red shirt- he’s called _Isak_.”

 

“No _way_.”

 

“ _Yes_ way.” Even teased, nudging closer so their faces were almost touching, both cushioned by the makeshift pillow of Even’s hoodie. “He’s _Isak_ , and the other guy is called Even. They’ve been together for fifty-odd years. So long neither of them can actually remember.” His voice was soft, softer than Isak had heard it be in a while, and tentatively, Even reached out and stroked his face. “They come to the park every day just to sit and talk about nothing and watch people, because, remarkably, even after all this time, they aren’t sick of each other. They just enjoy each other’s company. And that’s enough.”

 

It hadn’t seemed like much at the time. Isak remembers brushing Even off with his usual eyeroll-half-smile- _Even-you’re-such-a-sap_ routine and then they’d kissed, for a few seconds longer than necessary in a public park, and then Isak had sneezed more or less right in Even’s face from the grass and they’d both laughed, before getting up and walking home, hand in hand, for hot sex and cold ice cream to compensate for the scorching sun. Remembering it now, Isak feels so many emotions that he’d disregarded that day, and through the dark, reaches out to touch Even’s face as he sleeps. An inch or so away, he decides against it, and rolls onto his back, instead fixing his gaze up at the ceiling with his hands rested over his chest, unsure how to really feel about anything.


	4. WEDNESDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm in love for the first time_   
>  _Don't you know it's going to last?_   
>  _It's a love that lasts forever_   
>  _It's a love that has no past_
> 
>  
> 
> _Don't let me down_
> 
>  
> 
> \- Don't Let Me Down // The Beatles (The White Album, 1968)

 

**WEDNESDAY**

 

It’s actually Isak’s idea to go into town, take his (and Even’s) minds off the blistering uncertainty that seems to follow them around like a dark cloud. They’d actually had a _good day_ yesterday, and when Isak had awoke in the morning- it had been to Even watching over him with a half-asleep smile, tracing his face delicately with the tip of his finger, running over the slight hint of crows feet around his eyes. So, Isak has no qualms about taking Even’s fingers between his own and strolling out of the confines of the hotel, wandering into town with no particular intentions. Just an excuse to enjoy the sun on their backs- Isak wears his _Ray Ban_ sunglasses that Even had bought for his last birthday and Even dons the garish, pink-yellow-and-green Hawaiian shirt Cecilie (with considerable help from Isak) had given him for Christmas.

 

“I can’t _believe_ you’re wearing that.” Isak had said at least three times already that morning, but it warranted repeating as every pair of eyes flew to them as they wandered down the street. He didn’t feel embarrassed in the _I-want-to-get-as-far-away-from-you-as-humanly-possible_ way. It was more of a fond, endearing embarrassment: an excuse to grip Even’s hand tighter and laugh without caring. A reminder to them both that they were in this together, no matter what.

 

“You love it.” Even let go of his hand just for a second, to give a wink and a spin. _Always the attention whore_ , Isak thought to himself, happy his dark glasses could hide the eyeroll as yet more patrons stared at them curiously. “Go on, admit it.” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “You think I look sexy.”

 

“I think you look like a lunatic escaped from the nearest _dad_ convention.”

 

“Exactly.” Even grinned, before pulling him into the nearest shop. “ _Sexy_.”

 

It was a holiday shop- full of cheap little trinkets and postcards and other tat that Isak usually refused to buy because he couldn’t stand clutter. Even was far more sentimental- he brought back suitcases worth of nick-knacks from every trip they took, even if they were banished to the one cluttered shelf in his home office by Isak’s stern hand. It was a nice little interlude to their walk down the cobblestone street- Even trying on stupid straw hats with the Norwegian flag plastered over the top and dancing around as Isak turned over a sand-filled snow globe in his hand and marvelled at the way the dust flew around the water.

 

“Do you think Ce-ce would like this?” he asked. Even screwed his nose up and shook his head.

 

“She’d spend a few days figuring out just how the sand and the water kept separate and eventually end up smashing the poor thing to pieces.” He said, taking the trinket from Isak’s hands and abandoning it back on the shelf. “She’s too clever for her own good.”

 

“I wonder where she gets that from.” Isak muttered under his breath, but Even caught it, smirking.

 

“Certainly not me, my love.” He teased, holding Isak’s chin in a tight grip. “That is all Valtersen _DNA_ and you know it.”

 

Isak rolled his eyes, this time _very visible_ to Even with his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head. He wasn’t going to rise to Even’s taunting and give him a response. Instead, he pouted, and let Even drop a kiss on his lips. His _husband_ looked like he was going to say something else, but thankfully, they were interrupted by a small, quiet voice from the counter.

 

“I’m sorry.” The old woman said, beaming at them. “Just- you two make the loveliest couple.”

 

Isak felt his face flush red. It had been a long time since they’d had that kind of comment. He was used to people gushing over Cecilie’s pretty button nose or soft curls as Even whirled her around in the supermarket, uncaring as he knocked over tinned produce or boxes of macaroni. _What a lovely little girl_ , passers by would always say. _You’ll have daddy worried sick when the boys get a sight of you_. At that comment- they always stared at Even and smiled. Nobody regarded Isak, traipsing behind them with a trolley full of shopping. Nobody ever considered for a moment that Cecilie might have _two_ _daddies_ to worry about the terrifying prospect of _boys_ or _dating_.

 

“Thank you!” Even beamed, ignoring Isak’s flustered mumbling and grabbing him by the hand. “Ten years this Christmas. Married for five.”

 

“Ten years, already?” the shop clerk looked shocked, as most people did whenever they said how long they’d been together. Her thin, grey eyebrows flew to the top of her head, concealed under a wispy fringe. “But you’re so young!”

 

“We met when we were in high school.” Isak explained, squeezing Even’s hand gently but for some reason, having to force a proud smile. “and the rest-”

 

“-ancient history.” Even filled in. He then launched into excitable conversation with the friendly shopkeeper about Cecilie, letting Isak’s hand go so that he could wander over to the counter and give her his full attention. Isak hung back, pretending to be really interested in novelty t-shirts as he did his best to collect his thoughts. People were always shocked whenever he or Even revealed how long they’d been together, and he supposed it was entirely warranted. They got engaged when he was twenty and Even was twenty-two simply because they didn’t see a point in waiting any longer. They’d been in love for three years. Any more time spent just _dating_ rather than doing something official about it felt utterly pointless.

 

Everyone had been shocked when the official announcement was made, a few days after they made it back from the surprise trip to Italy Even had taken him on to propose. Apprehensive- that was the word Isak would have to use to describe most of their friends and family’s reactions. Distantly _disappointed_ was another, and Isak remembered the drop in his dad’s voice when he announced the news over the phone.

 

_“What? You’re engaged? Is this a joke, Isak- because if it is, it isn’t-”_

_“You know what-”_ Isak had snapped at his father in rage, immediately assuming he was still hung up on the whole _gay_ thing- as if Even was just a _three-year long phase_ and soon enough he’d break the spell and fall in love with some pretty young girl with perky tits and a high fertility score. “ _if you can’t accept me for who I am, you can fuck off back out of my life-”_

_“Isak, you’re being overdramatic_.” His father, to his little credit, hadn’t risen to the argument like Isak now knew he probably wanted to. _“All I’m saying is you’re very young. Think about this before you decide anything.”_

_“I love Even_.” Isak had replied, because at the time, it was the simplest thing in the world. _“That’s what I’ve decided_.”

 

It hadn’t just been his dad. Even’s parents had laughed nervously but congratulated them nonetheless. Isak could tell by the faraway look in their eyes and the worried glances they shared over that dinner table when they thought Even couldn’t see that they feared the worst- a manic episode. Even did notice- perceptible bastard- and snapped at both of them before they got to dessert that he’d _never_ been surer about anything, and if they didn’t believe him, they were free to check him into the nearest _loony bin_ to get tested. They kept their reservations to themselves after that.

 

Love has a funny way of masking rationality. Isak didn’t see what the big _fuss_ was about when everyone reacted so strangely to their news. Even Eskild, stuttering in shock at their surprise engagement party they’d thrown to spread the news to their friends, asking Isak if he was _being serious_. Of course, when Isak confirmed this, they’d both got tight hugs and kisses on the cheek and a bottle of champagne but Isak could still sense the reservation in his friend’s sentiment. Even _Jonas_ \- and that was the only objection that had cleared his loved-up-vision, albeit only for a second- had doubt. The difference with Jonas was that he wasn’t afraid to express it, pulling Isak out for a private smoke and a chat halfway through the night.

 

 _“Are you sure this is what you want?”_ he’d asked, taking a long drag from the joint and closing his eyes as he let the smoke burn his lungs. Isak was half-drunk, half-high and still a little bit floaty from the orgasm Even had given him in the bathroom twenty-five minutes prior when all eyes were off of them for a brief few minutes.

 

 _“Of course I’m sure_.” He said, twisting the ring around his finger and frowning slightly. _“Why? Do you think I’m making a mistake?”_

_“I think you’re in love_.” Jonas gave him an honest answer. Jonas only ever gave him honest answers. _“That’s all it is. Right now it’s probably the best idea in the world because you’re so in love but… I don’t know. I don’t want you to look back in a year and think…. You know, what the fuck was I thinking, getting married before I finished university.”_

_“That wont happen.”_ Isak was childish, adamant. Not he and Even. They weren’t some soap opera or nameless factoid. They were _love_ , personified. Their relationship had been far from ordinary from the day they met, and based on this, they both figured that if anyone could make the childhood sweethearts dream a _reality_ it would be them. _“Even and I… we’re soulmates.”_

_“Of course you are.”_ Jonas replied. _“For now._ ”

 

It hurts, and it makes him feel ashamed- wondering if all their doubters were right. If his dad and Even’s parents and Eskild and Jonas could see their future before they had a chance to live it. They’re not even thirty yet- but the cracks of a couple lost in middle-age are splintering. Maybe, Isak wonders, by marrying so young they’d done nothing more than speed up the countdown clock on their happiness.

 

“What about this one?” Even distracts him, holding another, equally garish Hawaiian shirt up over the one he’s wearing. This time- the shirt is purple and pink and green and red. It looks like vomit, in garment form. Isak forces himself to laugh.

 

“Maybe for your birthday.” He says, and Even freezes.

_Shit_ , Isak thinks, watching Even hang the shirt back up without a word and turn to talk to the teller again, running a hand through the front of his hair, feeling the gradual thinning. _Stop mentioning the birthday_.

 

Thirty is a milestone in everyone’s life. It isn’t stupid to be nervous about hitting it- but Even’s fear of aging and personal growth in general adds to that fear. Thirty has become Even’s _monster-under-the-bed_ , lurking around for the last few years, building up the courage to reach out and grab his foot when he’s asleep and at his most vulnerable. The truth is fairly simple; Even’s afraid of hitting thirty because he feels like he hasn’t accomplished anything he wanted to in life.

 

This, Isak thinks, might just be where his bitterness stems for. They have an amazing house and a long-lasting marriage and a beautiful daughter. They have supportive family and good, longstanding friends and fucking Egyptian cotton bedsheets. They have, what most people would consider, _everything_. But for Even, it isn’t enough. It all means _nothing_.

 

Even is months away from thirty and although he’ll never dare say it, he feels as if he’s wasted his life.

 

“Anniversary trip then, is it?” Isak overhears the shopkeeper woman ask, and bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood as Even explains _no,_ they just _took the holiday on a whim and a prayer_. Anniversaries are another touchy subject that they don’t talk about- along with Even’s thirtieth birthday and the Radisson Blu hotel.

 

Even had forgotten their last anniversary. Their _fifth_ anniversary. He couldn’t even blame it on his bipolar, no. He’d just upped and left for a long weekend alone in Bergen to try and get inspiration for his screenplay. He didn’t ask Isak if they had anything planned. He didn’t even blink when Isak had asked if he was _sure_ he had to go to Bergen _today, Even. Today of all days?_

_“I’ve got to go_.” Even had insisted, curious as to why Isak looked like he was going to burst into tears. _“This house is fucking suffocating me. Tell Ce-ce I’ll call tonight to read her a bedtime story_.”

 

He’d apologised, two days later when he finally realised what had been so significant about that day. He’d booked the first train ticket home and showed up on their doorstep with a 2000kr bouquet of blood red roses. Isak didn’t care about the flowers, or Even’s rambling apologies or the kisses pressed into his skin that night.

 

Truthfully, he still hasn’t really forgiven Even at all. He doesn’t know if he ever will.


	5. THURSDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Give me bullet power. Give me power over angels. Even when you’re standing up you look like you’re lying down, but will you let me kiss your neck, baby? Do I have to tie your arms down? Do I have to stick my tongue in your mouth like the hand of a thief, like a burglary  
>  like it’s just another petty theft? It makes me tired, Henry. Do you see what I mean?  
> Do you see what I’m getting at? _
> 
> \- Richard Siken

**THURSDAY**

 

 

The next day passes in a blur for Isak. He and Even are no longer playing _couple of the year_ but there isn’t anything particularly _wrong_ either- so they head into town again and sip overpriced coffee, watch the tourists wander around and catch a matinee movie in the late afternoon. Isak falls asleep in the movie theatre and for once, Even doesn’t give him shit for it. when Isak suggests they go and get dinner somewhere nice, Even jumps at the chance.

 

Isak doesn’t even object when Even orders a bottle of red wine before the server has a chance to offer them bread and tap-water. He sips from his glass once before downing half of it greedily, thankful for the numbing touch of alcohol on his lips. Even laughs- “slow down, kid, you’ll be slurring your words before we get to order”- and Isak laughs back, glossing over the stupid pet name he’d always hated. When he was feeling particularly entitled, Even used his age as an ill-thought-out advantage. It always backfired when Isak reminded him who actually did their taxes.

 

Overall, he supposes, the holiday really hasn’t been that awful. Isak feels horrible for even thinking it, but admittedly, the break from Cecilie’s constant presence has been nice. He loves his daughter with every fibre of his being, but it is a slight relief, having just a glimpse back into the past when he didn’t have to worry about her every second of the day. Of course, he still feels like an awful parent for even thinking so, and doesn’t dare bring it up to Even. The last thing he needs is Even’s judgement.

 

The thing about Even, when it comes to parenting, is that Isak doesn’t ever consider his opinion to be just. It isn’t _fair_ \- Even see’s an entirely different side to their daughter than he does. Even gets to do all the _fun_ stuff: he’s the one who takes Cecilie to the park, even in the pouring rain, and Isak is the one who has to clean the mud out from her hair and under her fingernails as she cries because the soap is stinging her eyes-

 

-Even gets to invent new worlds made out of cardboard boxes or pillows or every blanket and scarf and coat they own, strung across the living room and the hallway. Isak is the one who tidies up afterwards- the one who is left promising Cecilie in the middle of the night that the _plastic take-away monsters_ aren’t, in fact, real and that they certainly aren’t going to come and _infect her with carcinogens_ whilst she sleeps-

 

-Even shows Cecile all his favourite movies and Isak is the one who has to scold her and watch her cry when she repeats callous phrases and American swearwords in front of other kids, earning a phone call home from school. Worst of all, Isak is the one who deals with Cecilie’s temper tantrums when Even is too depressed to put her to bed and she has to make do with him instead.

 

Just thinking about it so clearly for the first time over linguini and red wine has Isak scowling into his food, just as Even proves his point by gushing about Cecilie and the painting she did the other day.

 

“Seriously, Isak,” he says. “She has a real eye for colour. I really hope she sticks with creating art.”

 

Isak doesn’t remember the painting specifically. He just remembers the forty minutes he spent scrubbing the red paint out of their 9000kr carpet afterwards, trying to ignore just how much it looked like blood.

 

“She’s got a bad habit of playing with her food.” He says after a long silence, pushing his own food around his plate, no longer hungry. The tomato sauce reminds him of the paint, and the paint makes him think of blood. Blood makes him think of all sorts of painful memories- getting socked in the face by Elias in second year summer, the long-faded scars on the inside of Even’s wrist underneath his watch, the howling shriek of Cecilie’s scream when Even had dropped her that one, god-awful time and she’d grazed her arm on the edge of the sofa.

 

“That’s just a thing creative kids _do_ , Isak.” Even tells him, and for the first time all evening, Isak notices that he’s edging just a little bit away from tipsy and creeping towards drunk. He looks at the bottle between them and notices that it is half empty. He’s only had one glass. “Like- I played with my food all the time. Drove _mamma_ nuts. You just have to let her be a kid and figure stuff out.”

 

“She’s started talking back again.” Isak grips his fork harder, but doesn’t move it towards his plate as Even stuffs his mouth with bread. “Not just to us- to her teacher at school. And, apparently, she’s stopped playing with the other kids so much in favour of playing with _Arti-”_

 

“-God, that school is so uptight!” Even rolls his eyes. “I had like, 500 imaginary friends as a kid, baby. They’re more fun than other kids. Our Ce-Ce… her brain just works quicker than theirs does. No wonder she gets bored with them all.”

 

Even, in his drunken state, clearly doesn’t care to notice the new tension that hangs in the air over their dinner table. The server certainly does- as Even waves his hand in the air and requests a second bottle of wine and Isak cuts him off, asking instead for the bill.

 

“What gives?” Even pouts, tone teasing. “Not hungry anymore, baby? No dessert?”

 

“No.” Isak grinds his teeth. “I just want to go back to the room and get in bed.”

 

Even quirks his eyebrows, and, strangely enough, smiles a little to himself. Isak does his best to ignore it- uninterested in whatever way Even’s mind had spun his words, but it’s pretty hard not to notice the flirty touch of Even’s fingers over his shoulder, squeezing his collarbone and tickling his neck gently as they walk out of the restaurant, arm in arm.

 

 

By this point, Isak’s mood has turned foul. He can’t rip himself away from Even’s grip because he’s pretty convinced if he does, Even will stumble into the road and do himself some damage. Instead, he is stuck dragging his drunken husband back into the hotel, into the rickety elevator, and through the to the safety of their room. Before the door can even swing close behind them Even’s got his hands around Isak’s waist and is pushing kisses into his neck, tongue darting out between his lips to taste the salt on his skin. Even hasn’t been brave enough to try it on so blatantly with Isak in _weeks_ , but he supposes the alcohol has something to do with his sudden spike in confidence.

 

“Even.” He forces a laugh with the intention of it sounding playful, but it’s hardly surprising when poorly-hidden bitterness clambers out instead. He leans away, uncomfortable smile gleaming in the dark and dodges Even’s next sloppy advance to round the other side of the bed and quickly slip out of his dress shirt and slacks. He doesn’t have to turn around to catch the way Even watches his body with a long-starved craving for hot flesh. He does, however, ignore it blatantly, and quickly reach for his long faded _University of Oslo_ t-shirt before slipping into bed without another word. He lays on his side, duvet cover pulled tightly up to his chin, back to Even and his eyes shut tightly.

_Just go to sleep_. He thinks to himself. _Just go to sleep and forget this God-awful night_.

 

“ _Baby_ ,” Even drawls, swiping his way through Isak’s jaded thoughts. He’d in the bed too now, sans-clothing judging by the way his warm and clammy chest brushes up against Isak’s shoulders. It isn’t the only thing brushing up against him, but Isak does a pretty good job at ignoring _that_. If he keeps his eyes closed and his breathing steady for long enough, maybe Even will just think that he’s asleep and fucking _leave_ _him_ _alone_.

 

“I know you’re awake.” Even laughs, one strong hand catching him off guard and physically turning him on his back. Isak looks up at Even’s looming face with an irritated blush that he knows Even can see and therefore misread, even in the shadow of night. “Did I ever tell you that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen?”

 

“Even,” Isak sucks in a sharp breath, turning his face as Even dives in to kiss him again. “Stop.” He forces a laugh, reaching up to physically push him away, albeit to no avail. “I’m serious.” He giggles sharply- and that’s how he _hopes_ Even knows it’s serious, because Isak never _fucking_ giggles (anymore). _Never, ever_.

 

“Come _on_.” Even nudges him with the tip of his nose before leaning closer, pressing a wet kiss to the side of his neck, followed by another, and then another as his hands begin to wander down, stroking Isak’s sides and making his skin light up with gooseflesh. Isak wriggles out of his grip, disappearing further and further away until he’s clinging to the edge of the bed, Even hot on his trail like a jungle predator, leaning in to capture his lips again. Isak lets him into the kiss, this time, but only for a second until he feels his body betraying him, growing heated under Even’s desperate touch and he has to turn his head again, rolling onto his side so his back is pressed to Even’s front and he doesn’t lose his nerve.

 

“ _Isak_ ,” Even huffs, finally sounding annoyed. “Come _on_ , _please-_ ”

 

“Fine.” Isak snaps, whipping over onto his other side to face him, irritation spiking. “Do what you want,” he huffs, turning to get more comfortable on his back as Even triumphantly rolls on top of him, pushing Isak’s legs apart to settle between them. “I don’t care.” Isak clenches his jaw- doing his best not to react as Even’s large hands clamp around the underside of his thighs, forcing him into a more submissive position, wet lips trailing their way down his jaw, latching on to his neck. Before- maybe even a lifetime ago- this would be the point where Isak’s back would arch and his skin would light on fire. He’d wind his hands into the back of Even’s silken hair or trail blunt fingernails down his freckled back until harsh red lines were left in their wake. This would be the point where Isak’s mouth would fall open as Even bit down on his bottom lip and _pulled_ \- the same way he’s pulling now, but instead this time at the thin skin of Isak’s jugular, sucking a dark mark into his pale skin. This would be the point where they’d have sex, and Isak thinks that _at least that part is the same_ , until Even stiffens above him (and _not_ in the way he’s expecting) and leans back, far back enough to look Isak in the eye, drunken sloppy cloudiness suddenly faded. In the stone-cold light of the moon, creeping in through their balcony, Isak doesn’t think he’s ever seen Even look more sober. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look more miserable, either.

 

“Why won’t you let me Isak?” at first his voice is as soft as a whisper, but his bruising grip on Isak’s thighs lets up in place of a hurtful shove, before dropping them all together and sitting back on his knees, head briefly dipping into his hands. He’s shaking Isak notices- sobbing almost, holding onto the roots of his hair where it thins at the front with a tight grip. “Why won’t you let me fucking touch you?” his anger is no longer able to be contained, apparently, and Even lashes out for the first time in _fuck_ knows how long. Isak didn’t realise he’d been counting down the days to their implosion until it’s _now_ , it’s _happening_ , Even’s head snaps up and his glare is so hot and full of fucking rage, Isak stiffens, suddenly feeling aroused again. That part hurts the most, he thinks. He’s actually _enjoying_ Even’s pain.

 

“What _is_ it that I’ve done that is so fucking _wrong_?” Even moves closer to him, slamming his hand down against the mattress.

 

“I am letting you, aren’t I?” Isak snaps back, scrambling away from Even with his legs still half open, sitting up with his back to the headboard. “Just…  just fucking do it, Even-” he whines, swallowing down the tears that cling to the inside of his throat, scratching his arm awkwardly and looking away. He avoids Even’s hurtful glare for a few seconds before knowing he has no other choice but to look, to absorb the flame that licked behind the cool, icy blue and let it consume him just as he _fucking deserves_. At this point, Isak knows he’s better off keeping Even as far away from him as possible. If that means ruining both his mood and their perfect little excuse of a _holiday_ , so be it. Even would probably have a much happier life if he turned away from Isak and ran fifty miles in the opposite direction.

 

“If it will make you happy fucking _take it_.” he spits, and Even finally crumbles.

 

“How can you say that?” His large hand falls on top of Isak’s left knee, but what had once started as a gentle sneeze quickly turns into an aggressive grab, crescent shaped indents stinging their way into Isak’s skin. Isak is certain that never, not once in their shared life had he seen Even this hurt. At least, not by _him_.

 

“How can you even think I could, like this?” he whispers, voice unsteady. Fresh tears were welling along the waterline of his eyes and his jaw is clenched so stiffly with anger, Isak feels his body freeze completely, trapped in Even’s blue gaze. Isak _can’t_ take it. He _can’t_ just sit there and watch Even crumble.

 

So, instead, he climbs out of the bed and bolts.

 

There isn’t really anywhere to bolt _to_ , per-say. Isak just runs to the first door he spots and races through it, practically falling against the harsh edge of their Juliet balcony. The door swings behind it and locks, immediately trapping him outside in the blistering cold. His knees knock together once the shiver kicks in- despite the summer, they are still in fucking _Norway_ and the chill is especially biting this many stories up. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Even’s hoodie, tossed carelessly over the back of the cheap wicker chair. He reaches for the garment with a sudden sense of relief, only thinking of the immediate effect of warmth on his skin- but once his fingers brush against the soft fabric, he can’t help but bring it up to his nose and take a sniff. That’s apparently all it takes for the tears he’d seen mirrored in Even’s eyes to crop up in his own. Isak doesn’t even bother pulling the hoodie on- he doesn’t feel like he _deserves_ it, the basic right to be _warm_ \- and instead curls in on himself in one of the wicker chairs, soft hairs on his legs standing up on end in the cold as he clutches the hoodie tightly and rubs his face against it. He remembers this hoodie. He’d bought it for Even years and years ago- not for his birthday or for Christmas, just because he’d seen it in a store and thought of Even’s eyes. He’d bought it for Even just _because_. It had been a long time since they’d done anything just _because_ , bar this pathetic excuse of a holiday.

 

Even doesn’t bother following him out onto the balcony and, watching the sun creep up over the horizon, Isak doesn’t blame him. He really is a fucking _asshole,_ huh? He’s the worst husband in the world. He’s probably a terrible father too- why else would Cecilie light up at just the _sight_ of Even appearing in her bedroom awning but whenever he was around, seemed far more content to disappear into her own fun- muttering under her breath to whichever imaginary friend she deemed important enough this week or eyes fixated on a colourful picture book?

 

Isak feels shit. He doesn’t dare go back inside until he can see that Even is sound asleep, chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm.


	6. FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm all out of midnight phone calls and flowers sent to your door. I'm out of throwing letters off fire escapes and drawing a cathedral in the sand. I'm out of spray painting your name on freeway overpasses. I'm low on cute names given between blankets and 9 am. I've got no dramatic displays of public affection left. And now everyone else I ever love is going to think me boring. Because I used it all up on you"_
> 
> _THE CUPBOARD IS EMPTY - Iain S Thomas (I Wrote This for You)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK. Sorry this took so long. Life got in the way. However, I promise this is the last of the heavy, heavy angst. Next chapter will reach some kind of resolution (and it won't take me three months this time, I promise, I promise, I love you all like my Isak loves my Even- even if they forget sometimes) x

**FRIDAY**

 

 

In Isak’s experience, hangovers have never done him much good. He isn’t the type to get super-fucked-up and hasn’t been since he was that shaking, closeted teenager working up the courage to hook up with an androgynous-enough looking girl at a house party. Once he hooked up with Even and stopped hiding himself away, Isak really didn’t see a reason to get ridiculously drunk or high because Even made him feel that way all the time, so they didn’t do it often.

 

Even isn’t supposed to drink or smoke in excess due to the nature of his disorder, but Even had hardly ever let something as trivial as _rules_ stop him from living his life. Isak usually can’t stand the morning after a night of heavy drinking, because Even would always be whiny and grumpy and generally too hungover to hold conversation for longer than a few minutes. They aren’t nineteen anymore. They can’t just _bounce back_ from a night on the town.

 

This morning, however, Isak has never been more thankful for Even’s hangover.

 

He’s miserable, lying in bed with a pillow over his head, to sleepy and too aching to even attempt speech. This, for once, is a positive, because after the explosive events of the night before, Isak doesn’t know if he’d be able to come up with anything worth saying. He’d dragged his freezing body from the balcony into the giant hotel bed at four in the morning when he was absolutely certain Even was asleep and wouldn’t notice him slipping into the empty space on the left hand side of the bed.

 

Predictably, Isak didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. So, when the morning light finally pierces its way through their thin curtains, he can at least sympathise with the likely burning headache his husband is experiencing.

 

They don’t speak. It makes things a little easier. Around eleven AM there is a silent, mutual decision to drag themselves from bed and head down to breakfast in the hotel restaurant- Even wearing another stupidly loud floral-print shirt, dark sunglasses large enough to hide his sunken, bloodshot eyes, and a cigarette tucked behind his left ear. Still, despite his dishevelled, he looks stupidly hot, and Isak has a hard time trying to keep his eyes fixed on his eggs.

 

“More coffee?” the waitress is yet another young girl, blonde with sparkling blue eyes, far too smiley and upbeat for Isak’s liking. Her uniform is that same ghastly shade of sunny yellow as the rest of the staff here, white pinny tied around her waist with a small, brown stain on the left corner, socks up to her knees like some sort of twisted school-girl fantasy costume, pencil tucked into the bun of her hair. Isak rolls his eyes, and is about to say- _no thanks_ , but Even stops him.

 

“Sure.” He says- the first words he’d uttered all morning- going to the effort to sit up slightly and slip his sunglasses just down his nose so he can look her in the eyes, smiling flirtatiously. “What type do you recommend?”

 

“Oh, it’s just normal filter coffee.” She laughs a little nervously, cocking her hip out to the left and glancing at Isak briefly, slightly confused, like she can’t quite figure out why the tension is suddenly so swollen between them. Still, her reserve doesn’t last long, not with Even smiling at her like _that_ , and subconsciously, she moves a little closer to the table. “But I’m sure there’s like… some hazelnut blend and other stuff in the back, I can look for you, if you’d like?”

 

“Regular will be fine.” Even smirks. “But thank you, so much.”

 

“Of course!”

 

She pours the coffee into both of their cups and Isak glares, watching the brown liquid trickling down into the chipped, white mug. The silence between himself and Even continues to stretch, the young waitress lingering around awkwardly, Even’s eyes burning into the strips of her revealed flesh, just above the knee.

 

“There’s actually a mixer tonight…” she says after a pause, trying to pass off her eagerness as a careless after thought. It doesn’t work. “…at the hotel bar. Everyone staying at the hotel is invited… there’ll be drinks and a buffet and stuff. Hope to see you both there?”

 

“Sure.” Even answers before Isak has a chance to politely refuse. “We’ll definitely be there.”

 

It’s a punishment, Isak isn’t stupid, he knows that. He probably deserves it too- so he takes it in silence, sips his bitter coffee without bothering to add milk, and doesn’t say anything for the rest of their breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

With the temporary safety of Even being passed out back in their room, Isak takes his time to walk around the hotel on his own. Admittedly, he’s been far too caught up in the seemingly never-ending drama of his and Even’s twisted, shared lifeline, and hasn’t had much time to appreciate the beauty of their surroundings. Of course, there’s the lake, but there is also a sizeable garden on the west side of the hotel, littered with picnic benches and little ice-cream stands, young children running around in the grass, laughing and shouting at each other as their parents watch on.

 

For the first time since they left, he misses Cecilie. He isn’t proud to admit that it would have probably been a much easier holiday had they dragged her along, as he could’ve easily lost himself in focusing on her and avoided this whole mess with Even in the first place. But then, that wouldn’t be fair- would it? Using your only child as a pawn in you and your estranged husband’s dirty, wicked games. Again, Isak is reminded that he’s _a terrible fucking person,_ and doesn’t seem to be changing his ways any time soon _._

 

He pulls out his phone, heart skipping for a second at the picture of Even and Cecilie that adorns his lock-screen. He’d taken the snapshot so long ago, barely a few months after she’d been born via surrogate, just a tiny blob of pink skin and blonde hair swaddled in blankets and tucked into Even’s arms as he sat on the arm of their old couch, just gazing at her, for what at the time had seemed like hours on end. They’d both been enamoured with her from the very beginning. It was hard to forget that.

 

Sighing, Isak unlocks his phone and calls up Even’s mother, giving in to his aching desperation for comfort an approval. He loves Even’s parents like they’re his own- and they’ve always treated him as such from the first time he met them. There was something in Even’s mother’s eyes- something that told him that she could _tell_ how much he’d been hurting and for how long. She could tell, even then, that he hadn’t always been nurtured in the way he should’ve been. Maybe it was just a motherly instinct-thing or maybe she was gifted with some kind of second sight. It didn’t matter. She knew, and had more or less made it her mission ever since to ensure he was loved and taken care of.

 

 “Halla, Isak!” she sounds so chipper on the phone, it only reminds Isak of his own exhaustion.

 

“Halla.” He replies, wandering over to a nearby bench so he can sit down, look out across the grass as the children begin to play. “Just thought I’d check in whilst Even… is asleep.”

 

“Asleep, at this time of the day?” She asks, voice hinting at her worry just slightly. “Is he okay?”

 

“He’s fine. Just hungover.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Ah.” Isak repeats, and then there’s a moment of uncomfortable silence. if there’s one thing he hates talking about with Even’s parents, it’s _Even_. He knows that they love him like a son, but that can never contest to the fact that Even is the real thing, their flesh and blood, their _bouncing baby boy_ , and no matter how much Isak tries, he will never hold comparison. It just isn’t the way things go. A parent’s love is unconditional, he knows that from his own experience. It doesn’t matter how much Even hurts him. His parents will always take his side. “How are things?” he decides to ask, wiping away the rogue tear that spills over his lashes, taking him by surprise. He thought he’d long since cried himself out after the events of the night before, but Even’s mother’s soft voice reminds him of home- his house and his bed and his friends and Cecilie, and suddenly, he forgets that they’re only a few hours drive away. It feels like he and Even have escaped to another world, another _dimension_ , leaving everything they love behind in favour of each other. A long time ago, he probably wouldn’t have been able to think of anything better; just him and Even, united, against the world. It would’ve been their personal heaven. Now, it’s more akin to a personal hell.

 

“Things are good!” if she notices the strain in his voice, she at least lets him maintain his dignity by ignoring it. “Cecilie and _farfar_ went to the allotment to check on the strawberries. They’re coming in so nicely.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“It is. But how’s your holiday, darling? Are you enjoying yourselves?”

 

You don’t have to be a codebreaker to see the secret message behind her innocent question. It’s no secret that Even’s parents know just how tense things have been between them for the last year and a half or so. Even’s parents aren’t stupid, and when they’d first seen the cracks showing between them, they’d sat Isak and Even down on several separate occasions and expressed their concerns. He couldn’t speak for Even, who never mentioned the conversations with him despite the fact Isak _knew_ they had happened, but he’d done his best to assure Even’s parents each time that _things would get better, this was just a rough patch,_ and that they’d _for sure be over it soon_ , even after he stopped believing it himself.

 

“Everything’s perfect.” He says, sucking in a shaking breath with the phone held at arm’s length so she can’t catch on to his guilty sob. “Honestly,” he’s reassuring her before she has a chance to respond, wiping away again at his wet eyes, ignoring the concerned eye of strangers around him. “It’s lovely.”

 

“That’s good.” Even’s mother says, after a thoughtful, sad-sounding pause. “Did you want to speak to Cecilie?”

 

“Ja, I’d love to.”

 

Isak quickly loses himself in Cecilie’s babbling conversation. It’s oddly comforting, hearing her drone on and on about the allotment and her new imaginary friend and the film that _bestemor_ showed her on the television. When talking to Cecilie, he doesn’t have to try so hard to hide his despair, doesn’t have to _lie_ , just nods and laughs along to everything she tells him, before telling her how much he loves her and misses her and _can’t wait_ to see her when they come home on Monday.

 

“Okei, I have to go now!” she shouts, because Cecilie always shouts on the phone as if the other person really is a thousand miles away. “I love you.”

 

 _Fuck_ , he nearly loses it and starts wailing like a child himself there. But, Isak reminds himself, _he’s_ the parent. He’s got to stay strong.

 

“I love you too, baby.”

 

“And papa?”

 

Isak swallows thickly. “And papa too, of course.”

 

Speaking to Cecilie makes Isak remember the good times, and he stares at his phone long after the conversation ends. That same picture of Even, holding their baby girl that they fought so hard to get. Maybe she’s the only good thing they ever created, but she’s _so good_ , and that makes it okay. Isak laughs to himself, because Cecilie is the kind of miracle they could only have dreamed of when they were seventeen and nineteen, moving into that tiny box of an apartment with little more than a bed and a giant, overpriced TV between them. Looking at Cecilie makes Isak think of _cardamom_ , and how maybe, he’s done enough hiding from Even for one day. He’s pathetically hungover and probably feels like shit, but if there’s anything that might make him perk up, it’s _cardamom_ , of course- so, standing up from the bench and wiping the wet spots away from under his eyes, Isak makes a plan to call room service the following morning, maybe in the early hours before Even stirs, and order them both a funny, nostalgic breakfast as ways of apology.

 

* * *

 

 

Isak’s in good spirits, or, close enough by the time they make it down to the ‘mixer’. The evening has only just set in, sun just dipped over the horizon but with a lingering warmth settling in the air. He didn’t actually realise the waterfront café doubled for a bar, but apparently, at night, a lot of things change- not limited to Even’s grumbling misery.

 

Apparently, Even’s gotten over his hangover. He’s still wearing the dark sunglasses, which hints to Isak that perhaps his miraculous recovery is mostly down to a little _wishful thinking_ , but there’s certainly a bounce in Even’s step and a smirk on his lips as they enter the little party, so Isak can be hopeful too. Perhaps, this particular punishment won’t be too painful. Still, he needs a fucking drink, and Even still doesn’t seem to be totally forgiving, so he doesn’t blink twice when Isak nods over in the direction of the bar and takes a few steps back. Even doesn’t follow him, but that’s alright. Isak doesn’t expect him to.

 

Tonight, Isak thinks, he’s happy to let Even play his little game. It’s the perfect environment for the type of predator that Even is- the charmer, the people-pleaser, the fucking psychopath in the ostentatious pink-and-blue tye-dye shirt. It’s barely seconds before Isak’s parted from him that he notices Even sparking up conversation with a whole heard of random guests, laughing and flirting with three people at once. Even’s an expert at _people_. Isak had never quite been so likeable.

 

He’s so lost in watching Even work that _magic_ , he doesn’t even notice the guy beside him until it’s too late and he’s laughing nervously, waving his hand out in front of Isak’s face to catch his attention, making him squeal in surprise.

 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” the guy seems genuine and harmless, not quite serial-killer suave but oddly charming, with his reddish beard and short, cropped hair-cut, brown eyes and soft smile. “Sorry. You just seemed a little lost.”

 

He’s smiling. Most importantly, he’s smiling at _Isak_ , and it takes a few seconds of deep observation before Isak can tell with somewhat certainty that he’s _flirting_. Flirting with _Isak_.

 

This doesn’t happen very often.

 

Usually, when they’re together at a function like this, Isak is far more used to people approaching _Even_. They don’t seem to care about their matching rings or how close they stand together, people will never dare _assume_ that Even belongs to him. Or- if they do- they don’t care enough, and openly flirt with him anyway. Depending how stable things are between them, sometimes, Even will flirt back- even with Isak watching. He always says afterwards that it’s just a _laugh_ , just for _fun_ , even though Isak doesn’t exactly find it _funny_.

 

Now, he thinks, he might have a chance to get Even back.

 

“Hi. Sorry.” He says, blushing slightly. “I was… uh… _miles_ away.”

 

“It’s fine. Clearly you were deep in thought about _something_.”

 

He’s more than rusty- Isak hasn’t tried to flirt with anyone since he was _seventeen_ , and even then, never had the finesse Even possesses. His idea of flirting was sending a _winky smiley_ after a text before Jonas had the chance to slap the phone out of his hands. Still, he isn’t completely incompetent, and the guy seems more or less interested regardless, so he can have a go at some harmless, _innocent_ flirting.

 

“You could say that.” He smiles, looking down at his own lap shyly before meeting the guys eyes. _Shy_ \- Even had always found the shy, doe-eyed act kind of _hot_ , and it seems to work just fine on this guy too, because his smirk widens. “Nothing important. Having a good night?”

 

“Not too bad.” The guy replies. “I’m staying here with some friends but… they’re all couples. A drag, you know? Thought I’d just get a drink and try to avoid the PDA.”

 

It’s hardly _scandalous_ flirtation. It’s just harmless _conversation_ , and even though Isak has to tell himself that six times before finally accepting the guys offer of a drink, he does sort-of genuinely believe it. However, after twenty minutes or so of this so-called innocent _conversation_ , he feels eyes on him. Bravely, he turns, catching a look with Even, who’s holding his own glass of something dark stiff. He hadn’t been to the bar, so Isak can only assume he swindled some pour soul into buying it for him, and as they lock eyes across the party, Even necks the whole glass, abandons it on a nearby table and then turns away, disappearing into the crowd.

 

He doesn’t leave the party. Isak continues to let himself be _flirted_ with but Even never strays too far, a flash of pink-and-blue in the crowd. At this point, out of guilt, he’d drawn attention to his wedding ring by clicking it against his glass, and the red-headed guy had taken the hint, and created a little more distance between them. Still, it’s all relatively friendly, and they chat about the hotel and the lake and the more-than-above average weather, and it’s enough that Isak can pretend his heart isn’t pounding every time he spots Even with another drink, another cocktail.

 

Isak _can’t_ have a repeat of last night, he _can’t_. He just wants things to go back to normal between them- distantly tense, but _amicable_ , workable, _liveable_. He can’t live like this- constantly on edge, waiting for Even to flip out. For the hundredth time this trip, he wishes he hadn’t fucking bothered coming. There’s something about this fucking hotel- this new _world_ they’ve created- where the usual rules of engagement don’t apply. Isak knows that even when they leave, nothing will be the same. He just wishes it wasn’t so obvious. The tension between them is like a rope neither can escape from- it doesn’t matter how far away Even is, Isak still feels the same tug around his insides, the same sickly, daunting feeling that tonight is it- tonight is the night when everything is going to come to bitter blows. They might be better off afterwards- but then, they might never speak again, and Isak hasn’t had to survive without Even for eleven years. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to make it without him.

 

Hands shaking, Isak takes another sip of his lonely drink, and his new friend continues talking about his job (Isak can’t remember the details- but it’s something to do with computers and software and sounds totally fucking _boring_ ) so he smiles and nods along, even though he has no idea where their conversation has gone to.

 

“Sounds cool.” He says anyway, and it’s a safe bet that pays off, because the guy smiles and nods along.

 

“ _Sounds cool_.” A voice mimics along from behind him, and Isak freezes. He follows his new friend’s eyes to the looming figure behind them, all pink-and-blue with his glasses pushed up on top of his silky hair, eyes sunken and hazy. “Sorry, I’m sure Isak hasn’t mentioned me. I’m _Even,_ his-”

 

“-husband, yeah.” There’s a handshake between two men, and Isak feels like a prize steak on a platter between two drooling, snarling dogs. Only, there’s only one drooling and snarling right now, and Isak’s suspects his chances of getting eaten are high. “Isak said. I’m Nils.”

 

“ _Nils_.” Even scoffs, and Isak realises then, instantly, just how drunk Even is. He isn’t mumbling, flirty, devil-may-care drunk. There’s a stage of drunk-Even that excels even past that, on a rare enough occasion.

 

Sometimes- rarely, but _sometimes_ \- Even is a fucking nasty drunk, and Isak’s got the war-wounds on his heart to prove it.

 

“Even.” He’s quiet, but warning in tone. Nils can sense it, and laughs nervously, but Even’s too far gone to even pretend to care and throws his head back with a loud laugh.

 

“Don’t give me that, baby. That fucking… ‘ _Even’_ … who do you think you are, my mother?”

 

Isak looks to Nils with pleading eyes, cheeks aflame with embarrassment as he lays a hand on Even’s chest, holding him back as he tries to stumble forwards.  “I’m sorry about him.”

 

“It’s fine, don’t be.”

 

“ _Yeah_!” Even picks up Isak’s drink and necks the lot, dropping the glass back down onto the bar messily, liquid splashing over his hand. “Don’t be sorry, Issy.” He drapes himself over Isak from behind, hugging him tight around the collarbone. “It’s only me.” he mutters into his shoulder, teeth grazing across his skin.

 

“We should go.” Isak wriggles out of Even’s grip, knocking him back and hopping down from the barstool. “Sorry, again. We should go.” he repeats to Nils, tugging Even by the hand, but he refuses to move, feet stuck to the floor, eyes dark.

 

“I’m sorry, darling. Am I _embarrassing_ you?”

 

“ _Even_.”

 

“Even, fucking _Even_ , don’t you ever give it a rest?”

 

“Hey, buddy. Maybe you should slow down-” Nils interjects, but he’s cut off by a curt snarl-

 

“-fuck _you_.”

 

“ _Even_!” Isak yells this time, and it’s enough to stop Even in his tracks. Unfortunately, it’s also enough to catch the attention of every single other patron around the bar, and what feels like thousands of eyes fly to them at once. Isak mentally kicks himself. All he wanted was for Even _not_ to make a scene, but here they are.

 

If anything, this is the _definition_ of making a scene.

 

“Come on.” Isak tugs Even’s hand, a little rougher than he probably needs to,  and leads him outside of the bar, down towards the lake. Just to be difficult, Even’s digging his heels the whole while, refusing to walk more than few steps before stopping again, mumbling something accusatory under his breath. Isak is past the point of _feeling upset._ Right now, all he can feel is _hot_ , _burning fucking anger_ , sizzling beneath his skin.

 

He bites his lip, but somehow the words find their way out anyway.

 

“How could you do this to me?” he mutters, but more to himself than anyone else. It’s his fault for starting off the whole pathetic game, and Even must know this- because Even just _laughs_ at him, fast and harsh and loud enough to catch the attention of the lucky few outside who didn’t get a chance hear it from _inside_ the bar, but who certainly are going to hang around to hear it all now.

 

Isak can’t let his dignity take another hit. He storms off around the corner, intending to head back to the hotel and forget this whole, pathetic night, file it away in his brain under _things to be mad with Even about_ \- but Even suddenly regains motor function and is quick on his heels, he can hear him panting and groaning and muttering under his breath at every winding turn. By the time Isak gives up on his quest for a decent night’s sleep and stops at the edge of the beach, only a few feet away from the water but finally, _thank God_ , alone, Even is suddenly right behind him, red in the face, panting and frowning.

 

Isak swallows thickly before turning to face him.

 

“I’m done with this Even.” He says, chest heaving even though he isn’t the one who should be out of breath. “I’m serious, Even, I’m fucking _done_.”

 

“Isak, baby, give it a fucking rest- just… just listen to me, for two seconds.”

 

“I’m _done_ listening to you Even.” Isak screams, and for the first time, it actually feels _good_. This must be what all those marriage shrinks on _yahoo answers_ talk about. _Catharsis_.

 

Perhaps it is time to just get it all out in the open. He certainly can’t live on _like this_ anymore, denouement constantly looming on the pink-and-yellow horizon.

 

“Even.” He sighs, voice thick with unshed tears but still relatively steady. “You are fucking killing me. Don’t you see? This marriage is _killing_ me.”

 

At this, Even is the one to freeze. The anger slips from his face just as quickly as the water recedes from the shore of the river, splashing around in the light summer breeze, wetting the sand beneath their feet.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks quietly, still swaying slightly where he stands. He blinks, like his brain is stuttering, trying to process the words he’s just heard, but ultimately drawing a total blank. “Isak…” he steps forwards, but Isak looks away. “What are you…? You’re not…” he frowns, cross, “Stop saying stupid shit that you don’t mean.”

 

Isak can’t help hold it back any longer. He lets out a tight, overflowing laugh, and the tears from the corners of his eyes spill down his cheeks and splash on the sand. Despite this, he smiles. He yells, of course he yells- loud enough that the whole hotel can probably hear them, but he smiles just the same because now, he’s beyond the point of caring:

 

“Don’t you _fucking_ understand Even? I am _done_.” He manages to choke out, and Even just _stands_ there, just _stares_ at him, the corner of his garish shirt flapping around in the breeze. “I am so fucking drained and so fucking _tired_ and this isn’t _fucking_ _working_. I am so fucking _sick_ of you I _cannot_ stand it. _I cannot stand it.”_

 

“Yeah?” Even shouts back, and that’s how Isak knows it must be serious, because despite all of his subtle digs and his nasty sneers and his loaded looks, Even _never_ shouts. Even doesn’t get _angry_ , he gets even. That’s the way it’s always been.

 

Except for now, so it seems. Perhaps catharsis works both ways.

 

“You know, Isak, sometimes I can’t fucking stand you either, but we are _married_. That’s _it_. We’re stuck, whether you like it or not.” His body shakes, hair rattling around his shoulders, arms flailing in wild gesture. Isak’s never seen him like this, but surprisingly enough, he isn’t afraid. Perhaps this is what he needed- seeing Even at his most ugly. It’s weird, because Even’s never been less than beautiful to him. Not until now. “I’m sorry to _thrust_ you into the real world so abruptly but _that’s_ love Isak. This is it.”

 

Isak looks at Even then. He _really_ looks at him, and he bites back what could either be a laugh or a sob. Then, he takes a slow, shaking breath, and lifts his chin to look Even in the face.

 

Quite simply, he says: “I don’t fucking love you and I want a fucking divorce.”, before slipping his wedding ring off his finger, and tossing it as far out into the river as he can muster. Even flinches as if he’s been thrown, as if Isak has reached into his chest and ripped his still beating heart out, tossing it out along with the cheap piece of metal that’s quite honestly started to mean less and less as time span on. He stares at Isak with all the recognition of a stranger, and that might just hurt more than anything else. Even looks away from him then, sprinting out into the shallow water without looking back.

 

Isak wonders if maybe he should run after his husband, just in case he trips or drowns or worse, but his legs can’t bring themselves to co-operate, so he doesn’t bother chasing after him. Instead, his body turns on it’s own accord, retreating from the beach and stalking back up to the hotel room. He doesn’t even bother washing the sand off from his shoes or his ankles before he strips down to his underwear and collapses onto the bed, chest aching.

 

Isak hasn’t felt anything like this in years. It’s _exhausting_ , so he turns onto his side and reaches over for the pillow Even had laid his head on only one night before. He wraps his arms around it, cuddling it tightly, nose skimming the fabric, searching for Even’s familiar scent. However, he soon remembers, the maids come up and change the bedding every night. Even’s smell is long gone from the room- and as is Even. He doesn’t even own key, but Isak is so tired, he can’t bare the thought of waiting up for him any longer.

 

Perhaps he will come back, Isak thinks, a little hopefully. Perhaps he’ll knock, and Isak will wake and they’ll both apologise for the years of petty back-and-forth sniping.

 

Tears fresh and salty on his face, Isak is asleep with in minutes. Subconsciously, he continues listening out for Even’s knock.

 

It doesn’t come.


	7. SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from. We can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them. - Steven Chbosky_

**SATURDAY**

In the morning, head aching from something akin but not quite the same as a hangover, Isak hears a knocking at the door.

 

For a second, he’s half-asleep, confused and a little irritated at being awoken. Then, like reliving a bad dream, the memories of the night before come flooding back in one, disgusting, ugly chunk, and he flies from the bed over to the door, quickly met with Even’s tired face.

 

Neither of them say a word, at first. Isak doesn’t know where to start- the dark circles under Even’s eyes, the sand in his hair, the strong smell of damp emanating from his clothes. He looks beyond dishevelled, and chooses not to speak at all, instead letting the plate in his hands do the talking as he hands it over to Isak.

 

The smell tells him everything he needs to know. Isak steps aside, and Even wordlessly sulks into the room, stripping off his damp shirt.

 

“Cardamom toast.” Isak says with the ghost of a smile in his voice. Even doesn’t smile, he just shrugs, shakes the sand out of his hair with his left hand.

 

“I thought you might be hungry.”

 

They sit at the tiny continental table, eating the shared plate of toast in silence for a few minutes. Even’s fingers are wrinkled as if he’d just come out of a bath and Isak’s eyes are bleary, because he may have been unconscious last night, but he certainly didn’t _sleep_.

 

“Where were you?” he decides to ask, because the painful silence is making the toast curdle in his stomach.

 

Even answers matter-of-factly, “I spent three hours searching for that ring in the lake. I think it’s gone for good.” and Isak quickly decides not to even embarrass himself by attempting to reply. He doesn’t finish his toast, no longer hungry, but he plays with the crusts, pulling them apart into little bite-sized chunks. It’s a habit. Cecilie likes the crusts.

 

“Even-”

 

“Look, can we just talk later when I’m less fucking hungover?” Even cuts him off curtly, and Isak flinches a little at the bite in his voice, but nods.

 

“Sure. Fine.” He says, and Even rises from the table in silence, wandering off in the direction of the bathroom. Seconds later, the shower pulses, and Isak sinks down on his chair without another word.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He paces around the room awkwardly, consolidating all the points he wants to make in his head whilst waiting for Even to come out of the shower, but once he hears the water shut off and wet feed padding against the wooden floors of the hallway, all the words Isak wants to say just dissolve into nothingness on the tip of his tongue like cheap sherbet candy. Even wanders into the room completely naked, uncaring for his modesty, but for once, it doesn’t seem like some sort of hollow threat. He dresses himself fairly quickly, hardly even looking in Isak’s direction, rooting around his bag for something other than clothes.

 

“What are you looking for?” Isak asks, bravely. Even smiles, before lifting up something small and green and tightly packed, wrapped up in plastic.

 

“I got you a present.”

 

Isak’s never been so excited to smoke weed in his life. Of course, becoming actual grown-ups with a house and a kid and all the other trimmings of a normal life meant that Isak and Even couldn’t sit in their tiny bedroom/first-apartment and smoke the day away for the fun of it. They had responsibilities, and Even wasn’t really supposed to do anything _fun_ on account of his bipolar anyway. Like most teenagers-turned-adults, they _grew out of it_.

 

This didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the occasional dabble.

 

By the time Isak’s out of the shower and dressed, Even’s already rolled himself a joint and is sat out on the balcony, puffing away. Wordlessly, he joins, and for the first hour- they don’t actually say anything at all. They just sit in silence and watch the world pass them by. Children shout at each other down on the beach and birds soar in the sun-soaked sky. It’s idyllic to watch, but Isak doesn’t dare let himself enjoy the view too much.

 

They need to talk about last night. They need to _talk_ , period. They can’t just enjoy this amicable silence for ever.

 

Surprisingly enough, Even is the one to speak first, but it’s fairly menial.

 

“Remember that teacher at Nissen? The one with the mole on his neck?”

 

“Mr Ransen?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I remember.”

 

“He sold me weed once.”

 

“ _What_.”

 

“I’m serious,” Even laughs. “A few years after I left. I suppose the teaching union wasn’t paying well enough.”

 

“It all feels so long ago.” Isak sighs, exhaling the smoke from their second joint, before passing it over. “Nissen and school and all the drama. It all seemed so important back then. Now we hardly see each other.”

 

“That’s life.” Even shrugs. “Although, I spoke to Mikael the other day. Apparently Sana and Yusef are throwing a birthday party for Aalia when they return from Safari.”

 

“I haven’t seen Sana since Cecile’s last birthday. Is it bad that we only ever see our old friend’s when kids are involved?”

 

Even’s nose wrinkles. “I wouldn’t say it’s bad, no. just sad. But everyone is in the same boat. Life gets in the way.”

 

“I haven’t spoken to Jonas in a month.” Isak looks down into his lap, feeling a little guilty. It isn’t Jonas’ fault, it’s _life_ , like Even says. Jonas’ is travelling the country writing political think pieces and Mahdi is listed in the army. Magnus is probably the only friend it’s easy to stay close to, settled with his wife only half an hour or so away from Isak and Even’s place. This doesn’t mean Isak sees him as often as he should. To him, Magnus and Sana and Eskild, all their old friends, they just remind him of _then_ , the honeymoon days of his and Even’s relationship. He hates what they’ve turned into plenty enough, but beyond than that, he despises the idea of anyone else noticing just how much of shambles their life has become. It’s humbling. It’s _embarrassing_.

 

“We’ll see them all soon.” Even says through smoke, looking over in Isak’s direction finally. “Wont we?”

 

Isak doesn’t reply, which is probably reply enough. What would he say? _I don’t know, Even_ \- it doesn’t sound right in his head. _Are we even together?-_ that’s far too frightening and real a topic to broach. Isak can’t stomach it, not this early in the day. They’re only just _talking_ again.

 

It has to be baby steps.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, look at this photo.” it’s almost evening now, and never has Isak enjoyed a day doing nothing so much, devoid of the pressures of _being happy_ , just _content_ , with his joint and Even’s stupid herbal tea and the creeping approach of sunset on the horizon. He’d been scrolling through the pictures on his phone for the last hour or so as Even sketched something in his notebook, but his finger had been frozen for minutes on one picture in particular.

 

Even leans forward to look over, and, thankfully for Isak, smiles wistfully.

 

“The first Kollektivet Christmas party.” He says, voice sounding warm at the memory. “God, look at us.” He points at the tiny Isak and tiny Even on the screen, impossibly young and _beaming_ , Even’s arms wrapped around Isak’s front, uncaring of the mass of people around them. Isak remembers the day more than fondly. It was the first time in his life he felt as if he could express _love_ without looking over his shoulder. _We were so happy_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t dare say it out loud.

 

He doesn’t have to.

 

“We were so happy,” Even hums, leaning back into his chair. Isak locks his phone and slips it back into his pocket, face down. “What happened to us, right?”

 

“Life happened, Even.” He mumbles in reply, trying to keep his eyes fixed on his lap. Even doesn’t explode, thankfully. Isak isn’t sure he’ll be able to survive another argument.

 

Even just shakes his head, still smiling, albeit a little demurely.

 

“No.” he says, voice soft and quiet. “Life isn’t supposed to be like this.”

 

Isak can’t help himself. He barks out a sarcastic laugh, looking across the balcony to where Even sits lighting up a cigarette, reclined in the chair as if nothing has happened at all. “ _Ha_.” He laughs, a little out of spite, a little to control the nervous fluttering in his heart. “Maybe not in your movies, Even, but here, in the real world, this is life. This was my parents. this was probably their parents too. It’s just… life.”

 

Even doesn’t reply, not straight away. At first, he doesn’t even look at Isak at all, just continues squinting out over the balcony because now, in age, he’s starting to become near-sighted but outright refuses to wear glasses or contact lenses. After thirty seconds or so of bone-chilling silence, he inhales a mouthful of toxic smoke, tightly, and finally turns to face Isak.

 

Even asks, “Did you mean it when you said you didn’t love me?”, and Isak can’t stand looking back at him for more than a few seconds when he notices the threat of tears brimming behind his beautiful, crystal-blue eyes. Fuck- no- Even doesn’t _cry_ , not unless he’s watching a sad movie or frustrated at a painting he can’t quite get right. Isak is the one who wails and cries like a fucking child at any minor inconvenience. Even _doesn’t cry_.

 

But here they are, crying. Isak wipes away the tear that overspills down his cheek with the back of his hoodie sleeve as fast as he can, hoping Even doesn’t notice, but it’s futile. Even’s staring right at him- Isak can see it in his periphery. Even’s eyes, round and shining like china dinner plates, pleading with him.

 

The pain in his gut only worsens when Even starts to speak, _begging_ with him outright-

 

“Please, baby. Isak. I’ll do _anything_ to fix this. You are my whole world. Please… tell me you didn’t mean it. Just tell me you didn’t mean it and this can all go away.”

 

“I don’t know.” Isak mutters, scrunching his eyes shut and balling his fists into them.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I said I _don’t_ know.”

 

“You _don’t know_?”

 

“I said I don’t fucking know, okay?” Isak snaps, head snapping back up from its new hidden home pressed against his knees. He sniffs the tears away, tugging at the front of his hair nervously. “I- I don’t know if I meant it. I don’t _know_.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“That I don’t fucking know, alright?!”

 

“Isak, _please_.” The strain in Even’s voice is downright fucking painful to hear. All Isak can think is, _this is all my fault. I’ve done this to you, this is all my fucking fault-_ only, he barely has time to think himself into despair, because Even wont stop, just keeps on begging, keeps on pleading with him- “I love you so fucking much it _burns_. You’re my fuckign _light_ , my heart my _everything_. You and Cecilie and me… we’re a family, right? Doesn’t this-” He forces Isak’s attention, holding up his hand and waving his silver ring around in the air, “-mean _anything_ to you?”

 

“Even-”

 

“-doesn’t it?”

 

Isak’s voice is as shallow as a whisper. “Stop.”

 

“-Don’t fucking lie to me, Isak!” Even snaps. This time, he refuses to look away. He holds Isak’s gaze hostage in his own, and Isak’s can’t blink, he can’t even breathe. He’s sucked in by Even so completely, so at his mercy, trapped by his words and his tears and his _stare_. “-You looked me in the eyes on the second of January, 2021 and you made the exact same promises that I did. To fucking- to _have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness and in health_ -” he recites, and Isak has to take half a second to feel shocked that Even remembers their vows at all. It all feels so long ago, one measly decade together dragging along like half a century. “I… I mean... look me in the fucking eyes and tell me you didn’t mean any of that.”

 

It sounds like a challenge. Isak realises all too soon that this might just be the single biggest defining moment in his and Even’s relationship- maybe _ever_. This is bigger than running through Oslo at night after Even left the hotel room naked in search of McDonalds and leaving Isak with a lifelong affliction of crippling anxiety. This is bigger than sitting on Even’s apartment floor, twisting a beer in his hands, wondering if it would _be so bad_ to just lean forwards and kiss him seconds before Sonja walked through the door with her perfect hair and perfect teeth and pretty pink lips. This is bigger than Even, showing up at his door in the middle of the night with nothing else to say other than a kiss following all the uncertainty he put them through. It jars Isak how quickly all these memories flood back, how the wild nights of ten years ago suddenly feel like yesterday, and how, when he looks at Even now, all teary-eyed and pleading, he can see the very same nineteen-year-old boy stalking across the playground on his first day at Nissen, eyes dark and piercing, gaze lighting up every single nerve across his skin for the first time in his entire life.

 

After a pause, Isak sighs- “… of course I meant it, of course I did. Every word.”

 

“and now?” Even asks. Isak bites his lip.

 

“…and now I’m not so sure.” He admits. Even’s jaw presses into a hard line, and he bites the inside of his cheek in restraint. The next time he speaks, his voice is eerily calm, surprisingly steady, knocking Isak for six, just a little bit.

 

“Tell me what I can do to the fix this.” He says, and Isak shakes his head.

 

“This is what you don’t understand, Even. There is no quick fix to this. There just _isn’t_.” once he’s started, Isak finds that he can’t really stop, and the words just keep coming, flowing out of his mouth like an uncontrollable vocal _vomit_ \- everything he’s thought about saying, the things he’d never dare say out loud, all fighting for dominance inside his brain, eager to spring out first. Isak just gives up _thinking_ , and speaks instead, hoping that he might finally be able to say what he really means without sounding like the most ungrateful, spiteful man-child in the world.

 

“You can’t just call cut and move some props around and edit the lines to change our story and carry on like nothing happened. Of course I fucking loved you when we got married. I loved you the moment you fucking kissed me underwater. I loved you the first Christmas we celebrated together with our friends and I _loved_ you when you looked me in the eyes and asked me to have a baby with you-”

 

“-But you don’t love me now? You don’t _know_?”

 

“-I don’t know what I feel about _anything_ anymore.” Isak finally admits, and, if anything, at least the crushing weight on his spine eases up a little. “That’s the problem Even- I’m so fucking tired I just _don’t know_ how I feel about _anything_ at all.”

 

 

At Isak’s admission, they both fall silent. The sun still hasn’t set and Isak finds himself wondering, y’know, _what’s taking so fucking long_? Why isn’t this God-awful day just _over yet_? It’s like God himself is up there laughing, white hair, long white beard, playing some kind of wicked prank on them both.

 

Minutes pass like hours, and Isak is so anxious waiting for Even to reply that he has to light up another joint- but after a few pulls his throat aches and his lungs beg him to stop. He coughs, chokes even, has to drink half of Even’s tea to soothe himself. He isn’t eighteen anymore. These things don’t come as easy.

 

“Is this why we haven’t had sex in six months?” Even finally asks, at least having the decency to wait for Isak to catch his breath back. He needn’t have bothered, because it’s sucked away again the moment the questions spills from Even’s lips, and his face heats up in a violent blush. Isak knows it’s stupid- he’s been having sex with Even for ten years (barring recent events) but still, the sheer mention of the act can still makes his insides flutter.

 

And not always in the good way.

 

“I-I guess.” He starts, nervousness making his palms clammy. “Sort of, yeah. I’ve just been… I don’t know, Even, _fuck_. I feel like it’s _lying_ , you know?” he admits with a deep sigh, slumping in the wicker chair with his hands over his face, as if _that_ will make this whole fucking ordeal just _go away_.

 

“Lying?” Even asks with a frown. Isak looks across to him and bites his lip. The time for secrets and lies is long over, he thinks. What else do they have to lose?

 

“It’s like… if I just lay with you in our marital bed and let you touch me… it _feels_ like a lie. Like I’m promising you that we can still do this and be together when I’m not even sure myself anymore. You must get that… right? Don’t you ever sit there and look around and think… _fuck, what have I done with my life?_ ”

 

“All the time, Isak. Every fucking day- but _never_ , not once in our whole relationship have I _ever_ questioned how much I love you.” Even replies adamantly, fist clenched tightly by his side. “Even at times when we’ve screamed and shouted and I’ve fucking hated you Isak- I _have_. I still never doubted for a second that I love you with all my fucking heart. I wouldn’t be here, sticking around if I didn’t. It doesn’t matter that we have Cecilie. My love for her is just as unconditional and everlasting as my love for you. And if you don’t want that- if you’d prefer it if I just… _walked away_ and she was the only thing that kept us in contact… fine.”

 

At this particular admission, Isak stills. He sits up in the chair, knees hugged to his aching stomach and tilts his head to the side. “You’d do that?” he asks, shocked more than anything. “For me?”

 

“That’s what you don’t understand, Is.” Even lets out a pathetic, sad little laugh. “I know you think I’m selfish and I admit, sometimes I can be but… I’d do anything for you. Anything. Don’t be fooled- it would fucking rip my heart out and hurt like _hell_ but I would walk away if it made you happy. I mean… if… is that what you want? Please, baby,” he pleads, but quietly this time. Gone is the fire and the flame of their earlier conversation. This is all Even has left to offer him, and his dying breath is so fucking _selfless_ , Isak has to wonder how they roped themselves into this mess in the first place.

 

“Tell me if that’s what you want and I’ll go.” Even says, voice devoid of all shake, all uncertainty. It’s more than a promise. It’s a _commitment_ , just playing out in reverse. “I’ll pack my shit and leave if it means you can finally be happy again.”

 

Isak doesn’t have to think about Even’s proposition for more than a second before he’s able to answer. He isn’t able to get his words out higher than a few measly decibels the first time, whispering more to himself than anyone else, but his answer remains concrete.

 

“That isn’t what I want.” He says, and it’s so fucking quiet, Even can’t even _hear_ him.

 

“Huh?”

 

“It’s not what I want.” He laughs, uncaring of the tears spilling down his cheeks. He looks across the balcony to Even, shaking his head profusely, smiling despite everything. Even looks at him as if he’s deranged, but Isak hardly cares. He’s never had such clarity in his life. “You… leaving… _fuck_ Even, of course not.” Of _course_ he can’t face the idea of Even leaving. Isak can’t even _imagine_ a world where they didn’t spend every waking moment together. _Isak and Even, in every time, in every universe_. It wasn’t just a silly sweethearts dream. To them, it was _real_ , and it is just as real for Isak now as it was the first time he read that stupid scrawl of a note, fluttering out of his locker. “Of course I want you here. You’re my whole life. We’ve hardly spent a day apart in ten years. I don’t think I’d last a week without you.”

 

“Okay, okay.” Even nods. “Then we know that we can fix this, right? I promise, Isak. You know I’ll do anything. For better or for worse, right?” keeping Isak’s gaze locked in his, he holds out a hand over the expanse between them. Isak bites back a laugh. A fucking _handshake_. As if things between them had ever been so formal.

 

Isak takes Even’s hand in his own and barely a second passes between them before he’s on his feet, rushing into Even’s arms, climbing over the chair and into his lap, releasing his hand to wrap his arms around the back of Even’s neck tightly, hugging him as close as he possibly can.

 

Even doesn’t hesitate to hold him back, hands snaking around Isak’s waist, stroking his sides beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. A few final tears squeeze their way out of Isak’s eyes, but Even at least has the decency to pretend not to notice as Isak swivels himself around, sitting more across Even’s lap so they can look each other in the eyes, hands coming to rest at the side of his husband’s lovely face.

 

“Hey, Ev?” he says quietly. Even closes his eyes, but leans forwards just slightly, eager to listen. “You said for better or for worse, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Even hums. “Why?”

 

“Just… this is it… isn’t it? This is us at our worst.”

 

Even’s tears his eyes from the sunset then, and rests his forehead against Isak’s own, drawing them closer than they have been in weeks.

 

“Of course it is.” He says. “But all that means is that we can definitely get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told ya I wouldn't take a month! Sunday and then the epilogue to go! Thanks for sticking around with my unreliable ass!


End file.
